At the end of days
by BarricadeBoy221B
Summary: What if the Macmanus brothers were being held in the prison Rick's group come across? All characters in the group are included, but not listed. Rated M for language and blood/gore. Hope you enjoy!
1. Jailbirds

The world had gone to Hell. That much was obvious. Once they had recovered from their injuries, for their own safety they were transferred to another maximum security jail in Georgia. Soon after though, that's when everything went to shit. The virus, whatever it was, got in somehow; the prisoners and guards alike were either killed by infected, or murdered each other in the panic and the riots. It was literally kill or be killed, and it was only out of a need to find each other and stay alive for them that they had to take more lives.

At first, the brothers had feared the worse for one another – they'd been separated into different cell blocks, which made finding each other difficult when everything was falling apart. Murphy had considered staying put, giving Connor the chance to find him easily – but then again, he never had been the patient one. Eventually they were reunited, reassurances of the others wellbeing left until they were back in a cell, safe for the time being. Having stolen a set of keys from a guard as well as his weapons, the boys were soon locking themselves behind bars.

Though it wasn't just sickness that plagued this arc in their lives. They watched as inmates shoot each other, or as guards went for their charges throats as though they hadn't eaten for weeks. It wasn't long before they were forced to defend themselves against other prisoners, living or otherwise, using guns lifted from the bodies of dead guards. It soon became normal for the brothers to huddle out of sight just behind the beds as infected inmates pressed waxy, bleeding faces to the iron bars. Once they'd moved on, both men let themselves breathe a little easier. Staying put was a tenuous option at best, but it soon became that much more strained when hunger started to really set in. Perhaps in other circumstances, one would insist on doing a food run while the other stayed safe. But that wasn't how the twins worked, and that wasn't how the world could afford to work anymore. They barely got back to their cell block in one piece, but the small amount of supplies they'd swiped meant it had been worth it, this time.

They were quiet for a while, before Murphy finally spoke up. "How long d'ya think we'll last?"

"So long as we're careful, we're gonna be fine." Came Connors simple reply. It wasn't what Murphy wanted to hear, but it was what he expected.

"Should try gettin' out, you know…Try our luck on the road"

"Aye. Let's do that – I've always wanted to get me throat ripped out by a pissed off zombie. Sounds like a fuckin' holiday."

"Fuck you. I mean it. All we're gonna do in here is slowly rot away, an' then what? Come back a few hours later lookin' like the fuckin' 'Evil Dead'?"

"D'ya hear yourself, Murph'? In here, we've got food, we've got shelter. This is a good deal we've got here."

"Oh aye – until food runs out, or other surviving inmates find their way to this block, or one of us gets sick-"

"Tha's not gonna happen. Jus' shut up and eat. I'll think of somethin', a'right? But we're not leavin' here unless we've got no other choice, an' I mean it – _no choice. _You hear me?" The twins matched each other's glares, but Murphy soon backed down for the time being. They both made valid arguments, but Murphy knew he wasn't prepared to risk their lives any more than they were already. They talked about it more, but each time they ended up butting horns – after a while even Connor was considering the option of leaving the jail and not looking back; but the security it offered as well as the generous food supply meant he stayed his ground on the issue. Murphy was freaked out, wanted to up and run, but they both knew one would never leave without the other.

It wasn't until a few days later when something drew them out of sleep. Sounds from outside – quiet, but unmistakable, and definitely not being made by zombies. Sharing a glance they were soon out of their beds and approaching the nearest window that looked out to the courtyard. It didn't show the entire area, and as Murphy pushed in front of his twin to see which inmates were trying to leave, at first he was disappointed.

"Nothin' there – you see anythin'?"

"Move your fuckin' arse and maybe I'll tell you."

"Fuck you – there. There, I see 'em"

"Who is it? Can you tell?"

"Gimme a fuckin' minute -They're not prisoners"

"What?"

"Look – y'see?" Pressing his fingertip to the glass, Connor scanned the yard – all he could see at first were infected, but then he saw what his brother was talking about. A trio of people – two men and a woman by the looks of it – were hacking their way through the less fortunate inmates. As the minutes ticked by, more survivors weren't followed. A kid, an old guy, a few men, some more women – all armed, as far as they could tell, and doing a good job of looking after themselves. Moving away from the window, the boys just thought for a moment, Murphy wiping the back of his hand over his forehead.

"You reckon they'll get in?"

"Not sure – they're handlin' themselves right now, but you saw how packed the lower floors were."

"Should we help 'em?" That was the question neither of them wanted to ask or answer. Normally, they would have without hesitation – but this wasn't a normal situation. They had one hand gun each, the rounds provided were their only remaining ammunition. And by the looks of it, this new group were far better off weapons wise.

"Did you see guns..?"

"Couldn't tell."

"A'right…we'll stay here, for now-"

"And if they get here? Then what? We welcome them with open arms?"

"…We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."


	2. The confrontation

For a while, neither of the twins were disturbed. There were distant sounds of combat, but for quite some time, both were in the dark as to who these strangers were, and whether or not they'd give them any trouble. They were clearly outnumbered, outgunned; all they could do was hope that they wouldn't be thrown out on their asses.

Sitting in one of the cells on the upper floor, Connor watched as his brother checked the number of rounds in his weapon for the hundredth time, feet tapping out an uneven, nervous rhythm. Normally, he'd ask what was on his mind, but he knew what the answer would be. They were thinking the exact same thoughts; how much longer did they have? If these strangers were dangerous, which was a possibility even with a child in tow, then the boys didn't stand much of a chance if things went south. Stretching his leg over from his spot on the floor, Connor nudged Murphy's foot with his, urging him to cease the foot tapping.

"C'mon, Murph…give it a rest" In response, he got a firmer kick back, and a more obnoxious tune than before.

"You're a little shit, you know that?"

"Aye…" Then there was quiet, until Murphy spoke up a minute or so later, having ceased the tapping finally.

"…Conn'?"

"Aye?"

"If this goes to shit-"

"Murph'…"

"If this goes to shit…just, I want you to know..." Looking up from where his nails had been being picked to shreds, Connor just waited patiently for his brother to finish. It wasn't often they actually voiced anything sentimental, so when moments like this came around, they both found it best not to joke.

"...S'been good, you know? With you and me…I don't regret it, any of it."

"That's all you've got for me..?" Connor replied with a small smile. Pushing himself to his feet, he went and took his natural place at his twin's side. He nudged him with his shoulder, gently but playfully.

"Aye, I know you don't. Me neither. Not a moment. But this isn't gonna go to shit, a'right? We're gonna be fuckin' fine. Whoever these people are, they got women, kids…chances are, they're just desperate for someplace safe to stay. We keep outta their hair, they do the same for us. Easy."

"You don't know any of that, you're bullshittin'"

"No I'm fuckin' not – listen, it makes sense doesn't it?"

"Aye- but even if it was that fuckin' simple, they're not just gonna take our word for it are they? We're the ones in fuckin' jumpsuits. They got kids – that means they're gonna be on their fuckin' guard. There's no way they'll let us wander round the prison – we could be fuckin' kiddie fiddlers for all they know…mass murderers…." Glancing at each other, they shared a very brief smirk, the one preserved for inside jokes at inappropriate times. Though both faces fell when the sound of a door clanging open reverberated through the air. Despite the fact he hadn't let it go for the past 24 hours, Murphy's hand immediately went to his gun – Connor doing the same for his. The group were in the rec area on the other side of the barred door, but by the jangling of keys, it wouldn't be long before they were in the cell blocks.

"The fuck are we doin' here?" Murphy hissed, voice barely audible, but loud enough for Connor to react. He grabbed the back of Murphy's shirt, practically dragging him to his feet as the group let themselves in. He kept his arm outstretched, as though to keep Murphy behind him, the other holding his gun at half height. He knew they'd be discovered; it was better to show the strangers they were armed, but not hostile. After that, it'd go one of two ways.

"Just fuckin' keep quiet, let me do the talkin'" he muttered over his shoulder.

"Fine. Jus' don't get us killed"

"Shut the fuck up…" As the group slowly began to explore, the twins could hear someone making their way up to their landing, obviously with the intent of checking for walkers. A shadow crept its way into their view, which was closer followed by the tip of a crossbow bolt. The reaction was instantaneous; the crossbow's owner, a man with lank, scruffy hair and a worn out shirt, raised his weapon at the two prisoners. Murphy pulled his gun, though Connor's reassuring hand on his arm stopped him from doing anything stupid. In a placating gesture, he took his finger off of the trigger, and put his hand up, though the other remained clamped on Murphy.

"Don't shoot." The first outsider ignored his request, nearly speaking over him as he called someone named 'Rick' up to join him. Even as he addressed his friend, his eyes never left the brothers.

"We got company…"

Rick looked as worn down as the boots on his feet. He couldn't have been older than forty three, give or take a few years, but the stress and the grime from the road and, evidently from surviving in the outside, had piled on the months. Armed himself, he seemed to take Connor's body language into account in a glance, but his expression didn't change, and when he spoke, his tone was no-nonsense, tired, and gruff.

"Lower your weapons"

"I will – once you tell him to get that thing outta my brother's face" The crossbow stayed up, but Connor still turned toward Murphy, giving him a 'not now' look as he slowly pushed his gun down, till it was pointed at the floor. As he looked back, he watched Rick, expecting him to do the same. He didn't.

"You're both alone in here?" Murphy glanced at his sibling, though Connor kept his eyes alternating between the crossbow and Rick as he nodded.

"..Aye. S'just us."

"Walkers?"

"None, in this block at least. Finished them off."

"A whole block by yourselves?" Added Crossbow, his scepticism masked almost entirely by his accent.

"You callin' us fuckin' liars?" Connor shot Murphy a glare, but he knew he couldn't stay quiet for long, especially in a confrontation.

"I think you're full of shit, is what I'm sayin'"

"Fuck you-" When Crossbow took a sudden step closer, Connor instinctively stepped into its line of fire, firmly urging Murphy to back up as he attempted to salvage the situation before it went to Hell.

"Look, we don't want trouble here, a'right? We know you got a group with you, we know you've got a kid. We'll move to another block, you won't ever see us." Glancing at the windows, Rick finally turned back, rubbing a hand over his eyes and down his face as he looked at Connor fully, mentally weighing what to do...how much of a threat they were...were they worth the bullets it'd take to put them down. Eventually, he spoke again, eyes hard and voice severe.

"You're not staying here."

"Aye, we know – just, let us out, and we'll make our own way to another block. Look, you're hungry, right? Your group is? If you wanted we can show you where the kitchen is, the infirmary too-"

"You can tell us where to find it, we'll make our own way there." Rick interrupted. "You can leave the block, but you're going to have to relocate to the other side of the prison. You're not staying near here."


	3. The jury's verdict

For a moment, no one said anything, although Murphy wanted to. But he knew Connor was the better negotiator when the time called for it, and this was definitely one of those times. He tried again, keeping his tone neutral and placating. They didn't know what sort of men these two were, and they knew even less about the twins.

"Look, we want to compromise – you help us clear out a cell block, you can have some of the food supplies."

"How much is there?" This time, Connor hesitated slightly before answering, not looking away from Rick for even a second.

"There's…enough. If you'd be willing to spare some manpower, help us clear out another block, we'll let you have some" Both of the brothers could practically feel the tension in the room rise; these strangers wanted them gone, one way or another, but probably weren't prepared to just kill them off when their backs were turned. Unless they felt provoked, of course, but even then, the twins would only attack when they were provoked themselves.

Rick and Crossbow shared a look, weighing the prisoners options – and by how quickly Rick gave his answer, the scales were already rigged out of their favour.

"That's not going to happen; you managed one block, you can do it again-" This time Connor went to interrupt, but was cut off by Rick's hand coming up, telling him that he wasn't finished.

"…You can do it again, or take your chances out on the road. It's your choice."

"Hey, we were here first-"

"Murph' shut the fuck up – Listen – it's Rick, right? – We cleared this place out because we had no choice. It wasn't easy, we had more than a few close calls. Me an' my brother, we don't want trouble, we're not a couple of fuckin'…psychopaths. We're just tryin' t'stay alive, and all we're askin' for a little leeway to do that. You seem like a good man…I know I'm right." Connor appeared to have struck a chord in the older man, if only a small one, because an odd look came over him. Like it'd been too long since he'd been told he was still who he'd been before.

"I can understand you don't want us near you or your group, that's fine. But you help us now, we'll owe you. We'll stay out of your way, you'll never know we're here-"

"Come on, man- we're fucking people. Cut us a bit of fucking slack-"

"Murphy, I swear to fucking Christ-"

"Rick..?" A woman's voice from the level below seemed to shake Rick out of his thoughts, looking from the man with the crossbow to the voice's owner.

"Stay down there. Daryl-" lowering his tone, he handed him a set of guard's keys, "-lock them in, and watch them. They try anything…"

"I hear you."

"Hey hey wait a minute - Y'can't just lock us in here!" As the door shut with a bone-shaking clang and the key turned, Murphy's protests fell on deaf ears. Once again, the crossbow was up, though this time only at waist height. Pushing his gun onto the top bunk with a sigh, Connor shot his brother a look, who responded by cursing at him in Gaelic.

Below them, Rick had re-joined his group of confused, exhausted faces. With one hand splayed across her belly protectively, Lori was the first to speak up.

"Who's up there? We heard voices"

"Two prisoners." Immediately, anxious glances were either shot up towards the stairs or at one another.

"They're locked in, Daryl's watching them right now."

"Are they armed?" Came another question, this time from Carol.

"Yes, but they're not hostile. They want to negotiate."

"Negotiate what? They can't stay here"

"Not in this block, no. They're asking for us to help them clear out another block in exchange for some of the food supplies." The reaction was, again, almost instantaneous. Stepping forward, Glenn was the first to protest.

"We don't know anything about them – we don't know how many other prisoners might be still alive in here-"

"Or how dangerous they are." Interrupted Carol, crossing her arms and shaking her head in doubt. "They're convicts; plain and simple. And we've already lost so much coming this far…"

"I agree" Maggie added, lowering her voice a little, maybe for the prisoner's sake. "It's been just us for so long – it'd be weird, having other people around" Holding his hands up, Rick called for everyone to settle again.

"They say they're alone in this block-"

"And we're going to take their word for it? Rick, they're criminals. Even if they are telling the truth, we don't owe them anything. We can't put anyone else in this group in any more danger than is totally necessary." He fixed his wife with a stern look, as though mentally reprimanding her for pointing out something he already knew. She eventually glanced away, allowing someone else to offer their two cents. This time, it was T Dog.

"Alright – I see what you're saying, I get it. But we put them in with the walkers, or kick them out onto the road, we might as well shoot them ourselves. I mean we've probably got more blood on our hands than they do"

"What's your point?"

"My point, is that none of us are innocent anymore. Alright, they made bad choices to get thrown in here, but they're still people. You said they're not hostile, right?" When Rick didn't answer right away, T Dog prompted him to with a motion of his hand.

"…Yeah, I did. They've got guns, both of them, but limited ammunition. They said they're brothers; one's got a temper, but the other's more level headed. They told us, once we help them, they'll stay out of our way…"

"And you believe them?" Came an additional voice. This time, everyone turned towards Hershel, who had made himself comfortable on one of the bottom bunks in an open cell. His question said one thing, but his tone was asking something else; do you trust your gut enough to give them the benefit of the doubt? Rick seemed to understand this, and after a good minute of tense silence, he gave a slow nod.

"…Yes, I do."


	4. Shake on it

Had it not been for Daryl watching them like a Doberman, the twins would have been pinned to the bars of their cell, eavesdropping on the group's discussion. They tried listening in on what was being said, but soon their own hissed arguments drowned out any hope of hearing the opinions of the other strangers. Giving Daryl a sweeping glance, Murphy dropped heavily onto the lower bunk, yanking Connor, and his tone, down with him.

"This isn't good, Connor"

"You're preachin' to the fucking choir. Shut up will you? I wanna listen-"

"Don't fuckin' tell me to shut up! This is fucked up, we're gonna let a group of fucking strangers decide what happens to us – I didn't sign up for this shit!"

This time, it was Connor who rounded on his brother, snapping at him at little louder than intended.

"And you think I did, Murph'? I don't fuckin' like this anymore than you, but it's better than gettin' a bullet between the fuckin' eyes."

"Oh fuck you – you don't know that"

"Yeah, actually, I fuckin' do. Worst case scenario, we get moved to another block, and we do all this again. I don't give a shit. We'll still have access to food, I'll make sure of that. But what you're not getting' through your thick fuckin' skull is that I'm trying to keep us both alive. And havin' you yappin' my fuckin' ear off ain't helpin' any"

That shut Murphy up for the time being. He just exhaled in frustration, looking away from his brother to his hands, whose nails were gradually getting shredded. It was a bad habit he'd had since they were small, and a rarity in that it wasn't a habit they shared. Connor hated it when Murphy bit his nails or picked at them, and would normally swat his hands away from his mouth. But this time he just let him, slowly raking his own nails through his own hair as his head gradually slumped forward. He hoped he was right about Rick. Of course, if the reason the brothers were in here came up, he knew that'd be it for them. But they'd deal with that when it became an issue. Until then, he tried focussing on what was being said below them, which wasn't as easy as they'd first anticipated. The outsiders were keeping their voices down, most likely to avoid being overheard.

As poorly timed as ever, it was just when Rick began making his way back up to their cell that Murphy nudged his twin, rousing him from his thoughts.

"Hey, Conn'-"

"Here's what's going to happen." Both brothers turned their heads simultaneously as the group's leader reappeared in front of the cell bars, his right hand in it's now natural place at his gun. Both men stood up, now in their own places at each other's side.

"Two members of my group will go with you, help you take down any walkers, and move any bodies. After that, you'll-" He gestured at Connor, "-come with us, show us how to get to the infirmary and where to find the food and other supplies."

Immediately, Connor felt Murphy's hackles go up, but before he could mouth of he settled the deal.

"That's fair. And so we're clear, we're still entitled to the supplies?"

"You get a third of whatever's left in there."

"You've got to give us more."

"You get a third, that's all. There's two of you, ten of us. Not negotiable."

The brothers looked at each other – Murphy's eyes were filled with suppressed argument. He wanted Connor to put up more of a fight. This was their prison, by right. But Connor knew that, while he could argue with Rick, the likelihood of the argument going in their favour was slim, and he had both their lives to think about. It'd been that way, ever since they could remember. They watched each other's backs, defended each other. But Connor always felt responsible for Murphy, like it was his fault if he got hurt. And even now, with them both teetering on the edge of forty, nothing had changed. With a nod, the deal was done. However, when Rick next opened his mouth, Murphy couldn't hold himself back. The older man had stepped a little way away from the bars, and placed his hands loosely on his hips.

"Right. Now you're going to hand over your weapons."

"What?"

"Oh fuck that"

"Murph'-"

"No, no – you fuckers come in here, you lock us up, you take away our food, and now you want us to hand over the only things we have against the fuckin' undead assholes out there? No fuckin' way." Rick just narrowed his eyes, almost daring Murphy to continue.

Let it be known he was never one to disappoint.

"Me an' my brother, we've been fuckin' nice, fuckin' civil – and all you've done is treat us like fuckin' animals. Alright, so we were in this shithole before you, big fuckin' deal. We're all equal now, and I'm willing to bet my fuckin' ball sack that you've taken a good few more lives than we have-"

He didn't need Connor shooting him an icy glance to quickly, and subtly, rectify his statement.

"Killin' those things, one after the other…it changes you, makes you fuckin' paranoid. Like you're not who you used to be, right? We've paid our dues, done our time here. You're not the law, 'Rick', and neither is your fuckin' bulldog here." He gestured crudely at Daryl, who was at the bars in a second, crossbow raised, though Rick hurriedly stopped him from doing anything stupid. In turn, Connor tried to calm his brother down, but all that accomplished was Murphy shrugging him away, and stepping closer to the bars until he could wrap his fingers around them.

"We've agreed to your bullshit deal. But don't expect us to roll over and follow your orders."

"Either you hand over your guns until tomorrow and we unlock this door, or you keep them and you stay in there until Daryl feels like letting you out. It's up to you, 'Murph'"

Tugging his brother away from the bars, Connor gave him a knowing look, at which Murphy let his lip curl into a snarl.

Within a few minutes, both guns were emptied and in Rick's possession, and the twins' cell was unlocked.


	5. Brothers

The first member of the group Murphy saw was the kid they'd glimpsed from the window earlier that day; he was about thirteen or so, wearing a sheriff's hat and the look of someone much older than himself. They shared a look before the kid was beckoned away and did as he was told, still watching Murphy until he went out of sight. He could hear the others talking amongst each other in hushed tones, as though they were scared of the prisoners hearing what was being said, despite the fact Rick was talking about them. Not that Murphy could see his or his brother's opinions mattering too much to a group of survivor yuppies.

At Daryl's muttered command, he straightened up away from the railing, stepping back and joining Connor by the wall. He looked calm enough, but if you knew him well, as well as Murphy did, you'd be able to tell by the way he had his arms folded, and the way his brows were creased together that he was worried. Giving him a nudge, Murphy motioned for him to join him on the floor, before starting their own conversation, once again in Irish Gaelic, being mindful to keep his tone down so as not to draw attention.

"You okay?" Connor tried to smile, but it wasn't convincing.

"Aye"

"Fuckin' liar"

"You got me…don't worry about me, Murph'. I'm fine." A tall order from one twin to another. They worried about each other, regardless of what the other said.

"Once we've got our own block that'll be it, we'll be sorted."

"Listen to you, all supportive of my plan all of a sudden"

"…Yeah, well - don't have much of a fuckin' choice do I?"

Another half-assed smile, but this one dropped a lot faster. Murphy didn't like seeing his brother like this; he already felt like enough of a dick for being so difficult before, and knowing Connor was probably overthinking every detail of what was in their near future made him feel even worse. They were meant to be in this together, but it felt like he'd pushed him away – made him deal with the brunt of it alone.

"…Look, Conn' – I'm sorry, a'right? For actin' like a prick earlier. I didn't mean t'make things worse…you don't have to worry, we're gonna get through this. Together, yeah? Like always?"

"S'not your fault, Murph'. The only thing that made this worse was this group here finding the prison…" Resting his head back against the scum-green concrete, he shut his eyes briefly, gently knocking his head against the wall a few times, eventually stopping and opening his eyes again.

"They've got more people…it's not fuckin' fair…"

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean, it'd be easier for them to clear out another block, leave us be. 'Can't risk the manpower' – fuck that! It's gonna be fuckin' risk if you've got ten or ten hundred people. Of course, we're the bad guys here…they'd prefer it if we were outta the picture, I get that, I understand it…"

"They don't give a shit about us; pure and simple-"

"But I fuckin' do!" The spike in Connor's voice brought Daryl's scrutinizing gaze back to them. He said nothing, but proceeded to watch them that much more closely, hands on that damned crossbow as though he was waiting for a wild animal to let down its guard. Connor just looked back at Murphy, eyes looking far too old for their age.

"I've done everything I can to keep us safe – keep _you_ safe. And I thought that gettin' this block cleared out would fix that for a while. You know how many men were in this fuckin' place? God knows how we're gonna do this all this again-"

"You think I'm gonna let anythin' to happen to you either? Connor, come on – I've got your back. Nothin's gonna happen, we're gonna be fine. An' the more you worry and overfuckin'think it, the more worked up you're gonna get." He pushed an arm round his twin's shoulders, pulling him into an awkward, round-the-neck hug.

"We'll go into this like we always do, and we'll walk out the other side fit as fuckin' anythin', alright?"

He didn't release him from the affectionate strangle hold until he saw Connor smirk – a little more genuinely, this time – and nod in understanding. Rubbing his neck melodramatically with one hand and playfully punching Murphy's arm with the other, Connor's smirk gave way to a weak grin.

"Y'should consider writin' for Hallmark – your little speech just then? Practically brought me to tears it did."

"Oh fuck you, you know you're-" Murphy was cut off by Rick nearing the top of the stairs, motioning for Daryl to join him again as he bee-lined for the brothers. They got to their feet, any traces of smiles now vanished. Firmly pressing a hand to Connor's shoulder, he began to lead him away, though they barely got three steps before Connor tried shrugging him off, only to have Rick's grip tighten a little more.

"The fuck's goin' on?"

"I'm not fuckin' blind – you don't need to fuckin' lead me-" and then came more of Murphy's intervention.

"I'm fuckin' talkin' to you! The fuck're you takin' him?" Grabbing Connor's sleeve, Murphy pulled him back, and consequently out of Rick's grasp, this time making sure it was Connor who was slightly behind him. Rick turned on his heel and took a stepped towards them both, his tone and expression as no-nonsense as ever.

"You know where he's going. He's going to show us where the infirmary and the supplies are."

Fuck. Murphy had forgotten about that part. Evidently, Connor had not.

"You want to go now..?"

"It's getting late; we'll help you with the cell block tomorrow, but we've got enough time for you to make good on the other part of our deal."

"Can we just-"

"I got a group down there who haven't eaten properly in days. We're going. Now."

Hesitantly, Connor nodded, though his hand found its way to Murphy's upper arm before he turned to look at him. That same anxiety, that same heavy concern that had been weighing on him earlier was back; Murphy could see it in his face, and the prospect of his twin going into the snake pit so soon – and alone…fuck, no. He couldn't do this, not without Murphy. This sudden, new situation had every fibre of him wanting to fight the possibility, the fact that Connor might not come back. It was both of them or neither of them – a philosophy that this group of fuckwits seemed to be having real difficulty wrapping their American heads around.

Giving Murphy's arm a reassuring squeeze, he gave him the best smile he could muster.

"Don't give me that look, Murph' – don't worry, I'll be back soon"

"You're not goin' – not by yourself, not with them-"

"Yes, he is. That was the deal, that's what's going to happen."

"So fuckin' take me as well! Safety in numbers and all that shit"

"No."

"Why?!"

Leaning into another step, Rick's tone dropped to a harsh mutter.

"Because we know nothing about you both, and by the looks of it you work better together. You could be violent psychopaths for all I know, and I'm not putting my people in harm's way anymore than I have to. You're staying here. End of discussion."

Whether he liked it or not, it made sense to Connor, but to Murphy it was all just twisted bullshit. After a very tense stare down, Connor finally broke the tension by giving his brother a quick hug, mumbling a few words of comfort into his shoulder;

"Try not to get a bolt between the eyes, a'right?"

Pulling away, he didn't give Murphy the chance to say anything back as he followed Rick down the steps. Daryl took up his place on the top stair, constantly narrowed eyes focused on the remaining prisoner. Giving him the dirtiest look he could, Murphy turned his attention to where Rick was nearly walking out of sight, and whistled down obnoxiously loudly, grabbing his attention long enough to say;

"He comes back alive, or you get to see for yourself what we did to get put in here."


	6. Proposition

The cell block wasn't far from the infirmary, but it wasn't the distance that had Connor worried. It was the walkers that had inevitably wandered into the corridors and rooms that made him entertain the possibility that he might not come back. He didn't know how many prisoners were held here, or how many guards had been trapped inside with them when the chaos had rained down. Equally, he had no idea how many others were still alive, if any were at all. And if there were any remaining prisoners alive in this section of the prison, would they be trouble? Most likely. The twins only fought when they needed to defend themselves – other than that, they kept to themselves as much as they could. But he very much doubted that any other convicts in this place shared their philosophy. Without anyone to enforce the law, he knew any surviving prisoners would take full advantage of the circumstances.

They were set to go in minutes. The group consisted of him, Rick, some guy called T Dog, an older man called Hershel, and two younger members, Glenn and a young woman called Maggie, all of whom regarded him with suspicion and the cold shoulder. He didn't mind especially; he just needed to do what they'd agreed, and the sooner he did that, the sooner they could get back to the safety of block C. Rick wasn't willing to give him his gun back at first, but eventually Connor managed to talk him round; it was either that or a melee weapon of some kind, either way, he'd have to be armed. With weapons checked, the barred door was opened and they set off. As he'd thought, it wasn't long before they ran into walkers – one after the other, like they were in a video game and the monsters kept spawning, over and over. It was easy enough to put them down at first, but soon navigating the halls in darkness became more and more of a challenge. And the further away from the block they travelled, the higher the risk became.

Walkers would lurch forward from dark corners, entire top halves of bodies would grab at ankles from the floor. Each gunshot was like a ticking time bomb before more of the undead found them, and more than once Connor nearly had chucks ripped from his arms or legs. Surprisingly enough, the others helped him if needed, and in return he watched out for them. But it wasn't out of a sense of unity, for them at least. He was simply a means to an end, and one who knew the way back at that. As much as they probably loathed the idea, they needed to make sure Connor returned in one piece. Murphy's warning did remain in the back of Rick's mind as the decayed brains of a walker painted the wall, and it pushed him to make the prisoner leading the way exactly what it was that had him and his brother locked away, as well as fortified the faith in his decision to separate the two of them, for this mission at least. He didn't trust Murphy. He wasn't too keen on the idea of trusting Connor either, but for now that was what he had to do.

Blood stained and adrenaline pumped, soon the doors to the cafeteria were being closed and barricaded, the sounds of walkers on the other side muffled and strangely distant – as though they were simply playing on a TV screen somewhere close by. Once the doors were secure, the others all looked to Connor, who was doing his best to clear the blood and debris from his face.

"…That went as well as could be expected…"

Before Rick had to ask, Connor gestured to a set of doors across the room.

"It's all kept in there."

As it turned out, 'the food supplies' were far more plentiful than any of them had first imagined. Even Connor looked a little awe struck at the stacked shelves and piles of cans and bottles. It was dark, but with their flashlights and the small windows set in the tops of the walls, the group could see that the shelving units were set out like a library, all taller than he remembered them being with 'aisles' between them. A whistle skimmed through the air as he stepped further in, taking some non-descript tin from the nearest shelf, turning it over in his hand; it was soup, or so it was labelled.

"This enough for the whole ten of you?" He asked with a small smirk, looking over at Rick, though the side glance he got in return was less than joking.

"This is amazing…think of how long it'll all last us!" Maggie exclaimed, moving between the rows of shelves, seemingly trying to take in everything she was seeing. Casually wandering towards the opposite end of the shelves, Connor joined Maggie in the third aisle down, keeping his distance but wanting to test the waters with a civil conversation.

"It's not exactly Walmart, but it's better than nothin', eh?"

She hesitated before looking away, although Connor could have sworn there was a smile there, if only a small one before Glenn appeared behind her, a hand going to the small of her back as he shot Connor a warning look. He just put his hands up – 'no harm done' – before going back to find Rick. He hadn't expected any of them to talk to him if they had a choice – but, it was worth a shot.

"You're gonna need help – bringing most of this back"

"We're fine. You take what you need, and we'll head back." Glancing round at the others, who were busy filling two of the bags they'd brought with them, Connor motioned for Rick to step to the side for a moment.

"Look – you want nothin' to do with me and me brother, I understand that. And I know Murphy's a little…hot headed, but, I've been thinkin' - we can be helpful to you lot." Before Rick could protest, Connor pressed on, raising a hand in a placating gesture.

"We know our way round, we can hold our own, we're used to hard labour, whatever you wanna call it. We can help…take bodies out, clear out the yard, fortify shit."

"You think I'm going to let you near my wife or my son?"

"We'll prove ourselves to you – just give us a chance to do that? We can be helpful, and I don't need to tell you there's safety in numbers."

"You were all for having your own cell block before – nothing's changed."

"I'm not saying that part has to. We'd live in another block if you'd prefer it that way, we could do that. You said you've got a wife and son – you've been keepin' 'em safe this long, right?"

"I'm not discussing this with you"

"Murphy's my brother – we're twins, if you can believe it. Born and raised Catholic, both of us. I know you've got no reason to trust us, but I know you can sympathise when I say I'd do anythin' to protect him. Anythin'. Family's one of the only things we've got left, Rick – and if keeping my family safe means gettin' you to trust me, I'm willing to work for that. And I know Murphy will be too."

"Rick, we've got enough- we should go back."

"Give us a minute?" Connor asked, turning towards Hershel, who, instead of ignoring him or talking over him, paused for a moment, before giving him a nod, which the Irishman returned gratefully.

"Look…you've got a good group here, by the looks of it. Just, consider it? I'm askin' man to man here."

"I won't consider anything until you answer me one question."

"What?"

"Why are you both here."


	7. In blood and bond

To say the atmosphere in cell block C was tense would have been a massive understatement. The rest of the group knew Murphy was well in their vicinity, but they couldn't see him, and therefore couldn't make much of a judgement about him. If you know what a threat looks like, it's human nature to react from there. In Carl's opinion, he hadn't looked like much – not nearly as threatening as he thought he would be. When you picture a convict, you imagine tattoos – or at least, more than he had – maybe a shaved head, a permanent scowl. He looked up to where Daryl was on his guard, sat near the stairs with his crossbow ready to fire should the prisoner act up.

But it was in both their best interests for Murphy to while away the minutes lost in his own thoughts, impatiently switching between laying on his bunk and pacing like a caged animal. They'd only been gone around twenty minutes, but already it felt like too long. Skulking out of the cell, he ran his hands through his hair stepping this way and that, before Daryl suddenly spoke up.

"Quit pacin'…it's annoying as hell"

"Fuck you, man…" he snapped back, but it lacked its usual bite. He was worried for Connor, and would be on edge probably long after he got back. The skin around his thumbs were already starting to bleed, but he kept scratching at them anxiously, closing his eyes and bowing his head slightly as familiar prayers made their way out of his mouth in faithful mutters. For a minute, Daryl just watched him curiously, only catching small snippets of what was being said.

"…You prayin'?"

Without opening his eyes, "The fuck does it look like."

Daryl paused for a moment, before adding, "Didn't have you down as religious."

"You gonna keep interupptin' me?"

Daryl just shrugged and looked away, and Murphy continued for a minute or two longer before crossing himself and lifting his head again, now resting it against the wall behind him. Though his actions had piqued Daryl's interest, not so much because it was common ground, but because it had taken him by surprise.

"You prayin' for him? Your brother?"

At first Murphy considered telling him where to shove his damn questions, but instead he looked at his hands, giving a slow nod.

"They've been gone too long…they should be back by now"

"Keep your panties on, they only left, what? Twenty, twenty five minutes ago?"

"The cafeteria ain't far from here, it wouldn't take 'em this long to do one trip there, let alone a return."

"You're forgettin' the walkers…gotta take care'a all them first-"

"Alright, if it's all the fuckin' same, would you mind shuttin' the fuck up? I know there's walkers, I don't you fuckin' reminding me"

"I'm just sayin'. It's gonna take 'em a while to get there and back. Relax."

"Don't fuckin' tell me to relax. That's my brother out there"

"Yeah, with five members of my group. You ain't the only one who's got concerns – bitchin' about it won't help any."

"Connor's out there with walkers and with five fuckin' strangers that don't give a shit about whether he comes back alive or not. I'll stop bitchin' when he's back here in one fuckin' piece."

"And what? You think sittin' around mopin' is gonna help that happen?"

"What else can I fuckin' do?!"

Daryl just rolled his eyes, and muttered something under his breath, but said nothing else. Their conversation hit a dead end for a while after that – both subconsciously knowing that if it escalated, a fight would end in tears and just cause more problems down the line. But still, after a few minutes of tense silence had bounced between them, Daryl looked up again when he noticed Murphy getting to his feet.

"Where do y'think you're going?"

"I'm standing up, going back to my fuckin' cell – that alright with you, Mary Poppins?" Murphy sneered in reply, despite the joke being totally lost on Daryl, who simply raised his crossbow, signalling the end to their delightful exchange.

Waiting until he was back behind bars, Carol came a little way up the stairs, eyes not really leaving the door to his cell.

"Everything alright?"

"Tsch, yeah…"

"What was all that about?"

"Nothin'. Just gettin' pissy that his brother's out of here and he's not."

"They've been gone a while…shouldn't they be back soon?"

"Not you too – they're fine. Rick's careful, he ain't gonna rush anythin'. They'll be back when they're back."

"And then what?"

"Then we rest up I guess, till tomorrow. A few of us've gotta help these asshole's, then we're clear of them for good"

With another glance towards Murphy's cell, Carol noticed how he was sat; perched on the edge of his bunk with elbows resting on knees, he had his head in his hand, the other partially hidden from view. It looked like he was fiddling with a necklace of some kind, but she couldn't see clearly. His eyes were closed, but he seemed…not sad, but sick with worry. It was a look any parent could recognise. And by the way his body was turned, he was trying to block out what they were saying. Subtly, she lowered her voice a little the next time she spoke.

"Are they violent..?"

"If they are, I ain't seen it. Had 'em at gun point since we found 'em.

"…Do you know why they're here?"

"You ask a lot of questions" He replied, a slight hint of jest to his tone. She just shrugged back and smiled.

"I've got to go back down with something to tell the others. Gossip mill's runnin' dry these days"

They both smirked at that, but Daryl just shook his head.

"Nah, he ain't said and I haven't asked. It's not like he'll be around us much longer anyway; no point in askin' about somethin' I don't give a damn over"

In his cell, Murphy was praying again, trying to block out the 'hushed' conversation Daryl and that woman were having. His fingertips rolled the beads of his rosary to and fro, hoping for a least a little peace of mind until the others returned. He should have pushed for another deal, or tried fucking anything else than just staying quiet. Connor was looking out for the both of them, but God only knew Murphy resented him for agreeing to this shit. No…no, he didn't resent him, he couldn't. It was just driving him mad, being away from his brother, doing absolutely fuck all while he could be in trouble, or bitten, or dead already. They went into this shit together, and it killed him to think that they might not leave the same way. What if that had been the last time he'd seen Connor? That thought alone caused him to clamp his eyes shut tighter, and grip his rosary with that much more conviction.

Nearly an hour passed, and still he remained alone.


	8. Empty handed

It was only a brief hesitation, but it was enough to make Rick ask again. But instead of answering straight away, Connor just looked him straight in the eyes.

"We don't need to have this discussion here-"

"I'm thinking we do."

"The longer we're here, the more danger we're in a'right? Let's just get back to the cells, I'll tell you everythin' then"

"He's right, Rick" Came Hershel's voice again, calm but authoritative. "The sooner we get back the better. We can all talk about this, later."

Glenn and Maggie stepped up behind Hershel, bags filled to capacity and eyes glancing from their leader to the convict.

"We, ah…we got everything, enough to last a few days, easy…"

Evidently Rick didn't like being disagreed with, but he knew they had to get back. Looking from the doors back to Connor, he fixed him with a hard look and leaned an inch or so closer.

"We're going to continue this, _later._"

Raising both hands at hip height, Connor just nodded sincerely, before slowly stepping around the older man to pass through the supply room doors.

"Unless a lot more walkers have wandered this way, we should be able to get back easily enough-"

"We've got enough ammo to last another trip – come on, let's move."

Glenn may as well have pushed him out of the way, but cutting him off mid-sentence to speak directly to Rick did the trick well enough. But the Irishman didn't rise to the bait, as he knew his brother would have. He silently hoped that for both their sakes, Murphy was managing to not provoke any fights or get himself in the shit. He knew he'd be worrying, anxious; but Murphy didn't worry like most people. When he worried he curled in on himself, but would lash out until the object of his concern had been returned or dealt with, depending on the situation. Connor felt horrible for putting his brother through this, but he knew it was for the best. Things would be better after this was over. He had to believe that.

But first he had to get himself back in one piece.

As quietly as was physically possible, they moved the cafeteria table that had been acting as a barricade against the main doors. Any sound above a whisper echoed terribly, as though thunder clouds were rolling through the empty spaces as easily as smoke. But they moved on without hesitation, weapons out and everyone's attention on every space around them. For the first few minutes, it was smooth sailing; there weren't many corners, and an affirming nod from Connor told Rick he was headed in the right direction. There were walkers, but not many – and for a while, it seemed that they'd get back before it got too dark.

At one point in the corridor, they had to step over and between the rotting corpses of long-dead walkers, which was stomach turning, but all eyes remained ahead.

And that was when Hershel fell. A walker had latched itself onto his ankle – the scream that followed had barely started when the creature sank its gravestone teeth into his lower leg. The group's reaction was instantaneous; Maggie yelled out for him, and went to help him up. Connor kicked it loose of its victim and put a bullet in its skull. Rick had Hershel up in seconds, supporting near all his weight as they scrambled to decide what they should do.

"We can't stop!"

"We go back – we know it's clear that way"

"We're not going back there!"

Murmurings and the sound of groans were already present and rapidly heading their way, the acoustics of the empty hallways carrying the promise of death alongside the smell of rotting flesh. Without saying another word, Rick turned and headed straight back the way they'd just come – the others had no choice but to follow.

With the barricade being put to use once more, Connor re-joined the group, his blood pumping in his ears so hard he could barely hear anything anyone was saying, if they were in fact saying anything at all. Maggie was cradling Hershel's head, tears already coating her face. What happened next all went frame by frame. Connor saw the trouser leg being ripped apart, part of what would become the bloody undoing of this old man. He found himself pulling his rosary out from under his shirt, muttering a prayer so quickly he barely understood the words himself, before removing the beads from his neck and hurriedly pressing into Hershel's palm. He didn't know if he was religious or not, but when he saw Maggie's hand close over her fathers, and in turn enveloping the wooden beads in pain-shaken fingers, he wanted to think it would help him. No one noticed, not really – but what did grab attention was the flash of a hatchet, and the sudden, sickening 'thunk' of it being embedded in Hershel's leg.

Again

And again

and again

And again.

T Dog was saying something, his tone ridden with nauseous disbelief, Glenn remained slack jawed and pale. Hershel passed out within moments – which, Connor supposed briefly – was in his best interest. There was already a belt being fashioned into a tourniquet as he realized Rick was speaking to him. He was asking if there was another way out, to which Connor nodded dumbly. He liked to think he had a strong stomach at the best of times, but the events of the last few minutes would stay with him a good week or so.

With an order barked at Glenn to bring one of the long, wheeled table units over, they all worked fast to get Hershel up onto the surface.

And in an act that he knew would get him a beating later, Connor finally broke his silence.

"You'll need medical supplies-"

"Clear the doorway – Glenn, I need you to get those doors open and get rid of the first few walkers. Maggie? Maggie, listen to me – you have to help Glenn right now"

"Rick, he's gonna make it without bandages, pills, that shorta shit-"

"Where's the infirmary from here? How far?!"

"Not far – take him back to the cells, I'll go get what he needs."

"You sure you want-"

"I know the way, just fucking go!"

Connor had already grabbed Rick's hatchet and was at the far end of the room making a break through a set of swing doors before any of them cared to argue. Getting back to the cell block was a nightmare, but by the time voices were heard, the rest of the group were on their feet, ready to welcome back their brave volunteers.

It was only when he heard the excitement from the floor below that Murphy scrambled to his feet, practically flying out of his cell and leaning over the railing, straining to see Connor. He heard crying, panicked voices and a level of urgency rise so fast he could almost taste it. Daryl was down at the bottom of the stairs, going straight to Rick, who immediately pointed him right back up where he'd come from. However, the man he was supposed to be guarding was already two steps from the bottom, scanning the scene with an unreadable expression.

"Where's my brother..?" Daryl told him to back up, to go upstairs, but Murphy pointedly ignored him, shoving his way past and going for Rick.

"Where the fuck is he? Where the _fuck is my fucking brother-_"

Daryl had a fistful of his prison uniform in half a second, yanking him back so hard he barely kept his balance. But he caught himself on the railing, this time rounding on Daryl and shunting him away with more force than before. He hadn't even noticed what was happening in the cell off to his right, nor did he care about why everyone was crying or snapping at one another or why there was an elderly man slowly bleeding out on one of the bunks. _Where was Connor? Why is Connor not here?_

Rick pulled him out of the immediate area and out of the barred jail gate, throwing him away from himself as though he was a contagion. His gun was aimed at Murphy before the Irishman could take another breath.

"Why isn't Connor with you?! I told you to bring him back, so where the fuck is he?!"

"There was an accident - someone got bit"

There are few words that could describe Murphy's face at that point. His mouth opened and shut, and no words came out when he told them to. His mouth was suddenly so dry and his chest so tight he could barely breathe.

"…What?"

"One of my group got bit. Your brother went to find the infirmary, bring back medical supplies for him."

Murphy felt like he might be sick; on the one hand, Connor hadn't been the one bitten. On the other hand, he was still in the snake pit. Wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead, he tried to remain composed as the hand dropped back to his side, needing to know the answer to his next question but not wanting to hear it. He could practically feel his voice cracking as he took another deep breath, and asked;

"…Who's with him?"


	9. Countdown

Regardless of the weapon trained on him, at that moment, Murphy wanted nothing more than to beat the living shit out of Rick. Break his nose and feed him his teeth. Make him bleed, let the punches roll till his knuckles split open.

"You let him go alone…is that what you're fuckin' telling me?"

"That's what I'm saying." Rick replied coolly, eyes cold as they watched Murphy's reactions evolve.

"What did I fuckin' say to you before you left?!"

"Things changed. Shit happens. And for the record, we didn't send him out there – he volunteered. He ran off before we could stop him, and we didn't have the option to run after him and haul him back."

He had volunteered? That sounded like something Connor would do, but Jesus Christ was it the dumbest fucking thing he could have done. Didn't he think of what he'd put Murphy through? He knows if the roles were reversed, leaving Connor behind would be the one thing he'd want to avoid. Cursing under his breath, Murphy scrubbed his nails through his hair, thinking over his new plan before looking up at Rick again. The officer could see his eyes had become glazed with emotion, but nothing was different; he was a criminal, and the fact his brother had played the hero didn't change the fact that Hershel was slowly bleeding to death in the cells. Maybe if this didn't escalate and Connor was successful, maybe then they could loosen the reigns. Perhaps let the boys prove themselves. Just then, Murphy thrust his hand out.

"Give me my gun."

"That's not gonna happen-"

"Hand it over so I can go after him. The longer he's out there alone, the more danger he's in, and I'm not gonna leave him to fuckin' die."

"You leave now – fine, but what happens if he comes back and you're gone? I'm willing to stick to our deal – after that, I don't give a shit about what happens to either of you. But until then, you'll stay here until he gets back."

"That's my fucking brother you left out there to rot, you sack of-"

"Dad?"

Both of their attention was pulled by the kid Murphy had seen before, the one with the sheriff's hat– they sized each other up briefly, but Murphy didn't bother with him long.

"What is it?"

"It's Hershel - You should come see him."

"In a minute"

"He's bleeding real bad – Carol needs to talk to you"

Rick just looked from his son to Murphy, and motioned to the small set of steps behind him.

"You're staying out here till your brother gets back."

"Fine by me."

The cell block door was locked as Rick passed through, though Carl hesitated before going after him, looking at Murphy as children at a zoo would upon a predator. He didn't know how bad his brother could be; we was risking his life for a stranger, after all. But he wasn't sure what he thought about the one left behind.

Only when he was completely alone did Murphy let the cracks show, waves of anxiety seeping through his flesh and bonding with his bones, making him feel physically sick and forcing his head into his hands. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to survive here as long as they could, then take their chances on the outside. That had been Connor's plan, and that was the plan they'd argued over and eventually gone with. Nowhere in that plan was Connor supposed to run off and be a stupid fucking hero for someone neither of them knew. Nowhere in that plan was Connor supposed to leave Murphy alone. They stuck together, always.

Over the course of the next two hours, members of the group within the block came and went out of view, and the sounds of frantic talking died down to the occasional exchange. At one point Glenn and Carol had to leave the block, and Murphy was finally forced to move from his place on the steps, instead slumping to the floor and resting his head on his knees, more than happy to be ignored by the others. That was, until he heard the doors open again minutes later, and a new set of footsteps approach where he was sat.

"…Hey"

Murphy stayed quiet, and at first, Carl thought he might have fallen asleep – until he inhaled heavily, the sound wet and muffled as though he was crying. Looking back at the cells to check no one had seen him slip away, he tried again, leaning forward and nudging the convict with the bottle of water he'd take from the supplies.

"This is for you…I figured you haven't had anything for a while…"

"Fuck off, kid…"

"…I bet he's okay – the guy that ran off, to get the medical supplies? He's your brother, right? He looked pretty tough…"

There was a pause, before Murphy slowly lifted his head, subtly wiping a hand under his eyes and across his face as he did so, although even in the dim lighting, Carl could see how bloodshot his eyes were. Cautiously, he held the bottle out again, and this time Murphy took it.

"That's because he is…but he's also a fuckin' idiot…"

As soon as the first few gulps of water slid down his throat he immediately felt better, though the only thanks Carl got was brief eye contact and a curt nod. Going back a few paces, the kid sat on one of the table tops, watching the stranger, and thinking of what to ask next.

"Must be cool, having an older brother. I never did-"

"He's not the older one – we're the same age"

"So, you're twins? You don't look that much alike."

"Aye, well…we've been told…"

"…You're pretty close, huh?"

He didn't get an answer to that one straight away; the older man seemed to tense up a little, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"You ask a lot of questions, Rick's-kid."

"It's Carl."

After a pause, "…Murphy. And me brother's Connor."

So far, so good. He seemed alright to the boy, when he was calm anyway. His parents would lose it if they saw him talking to a prisoner, but his guts had told him 'Murphy' was okay. And he'd been right, as far as he could tell.

"So…what'd you guys do to get put in here?"

"Y'not meant to ask that, you know"

"Well, I am."

After another large mouthful, Murphy glanced up as he wondered how to word his answer.

"Do you believe in God, Carl?"

The kid thought, but eventually shook his head steadily.

"No. Not really."

"Then you won't understand."

"Try me-"

"Carl!"

Both of them snapped their heads up to see Rick coming through the doors. He went to grab Carl up, but the kid was a step ahead, hopping down off the table and backing away from his father – not in fear, but in preparation to defend himself.

"What did I tell you? Get back in there – we're going to talk about this later"

"We were just-"

"Get out of here."

Exhaling in inevitable defeat, Carl skulked off back into the cell block. Murphy, on the other hand, got to his feet with far less urgency. Though his mood quickly shot from calm and docile to pre-bar fight when Rick got right up in his face.

"You don't talk to him, _ever – _You hear me? You don't talk to anyone here-"

"Fuck you, asshole – he came here, he talked to me – so get the fuck out of my face before I-"

"Rick! Hey – Rick, open the fuckin' gate man!"

Both men turned at the third voice. When Rick realized who it was he grabbed up the keys, going to the barred door and unlocking it in seconds. Practically falling past him, Connor waited for the door to be locked again before he unhooked a black bag from his shoulder and passed it to Rick, who took it without a word and hurried back into the cells. Murphy just stared at him as he tried to catch his breath for a minute, before he straightened up, the look on his face falling when he saw how his brother was looking at him.

It was Connor. His arms were coated with blackish blood, it was in his hair and spattered across his face, soaking into his prison uniform. But it was him. Alive. Alive and okay.


	10. The right thing

Connor couldn't stop himself from smiling, in relief if nothing else. Although he knew Murphy would be safe here, it was still good to see he was alright. Taking a step forward, he went to hug his twin.

"Murph'-"

However, he didn't even manage to get his brother's name out before Murphy had crossed the room and hit him right in the face, forcing him back a step. And then back a few more when Murphy shoved him, and again, and then another hit, but this one didn't land as hard as he meant it to.

"You're a FUCKIN' ASSHOLE – You hear me?!"

"Murphy-"

"No FUCK YOU, Connor. I mean it, go fuck yourself. You're such a fucking _asshole" _

Connor said nothing at first, just touched his jaw gingerly as Murphy continued – he'd backed a few feet away for the time being, as though he was worried about hitting Connor again and not being able to stop. While with Murphy, just seeing the oblivious look on his dumbass brother's face was enough to really open the floodgates.

"Why did y'think that was smart? What the fuck was going through your fuckin' head to make you think goin' out there alone was a clever fucking idea-?! Tell me, Connor! Because I'm having a really hard time workin' out how you thought it'd be okay to just leave me here-"

"Murphy…"

"Don't fuckin' say anything to me, Conn' – You have _no idea _what the past few hours have been like for me. No fuckin' clue. An' then you have the balls to stand there and fuckin' smile at me..? Like it's nothin'? Like you've only been gone 5 minutes? I had no fuckin' idea if you were alive, or dead, or havin' your fuckin' guts torn outta your belly by one of those fuckin' things…you would'a turned into one of those things and I wouldn't have fuckin' known…"

He always was the more emotional one, always had been. He had been a reckless little shit as a child, always the first to shout and talk back to adults and get them both in trouble. That's not to say Connor didn't partake in his share of misadventures, but Murphy was always the one that really felt things – when he was sad, he wouldn't cry, but would retreat in on himself. If he was happy he'd bounce off the walls and not stop smiling till sleep took him. And when he got angry, oh man…the amount of playground frights Connor had had to throw himself into to stop Murphy having the shit kicked out of him, and end up having them both thrown in detention…everything was so intense with him, even when he was calm and quiet. And that hadn't changed a bit as they'd grown into men. Even now, Connor could still see the pissed off fifteen year old that he'd argue with, and the sixteen year old who would always stand up for his peers if they needed it, spitting in the face of their tormentor, often regardless of their size.

And now, all of Murphy's emotions washing over his face one after the other; the rage at his brother for not returning with the others, relief he was alive, and the raw sorrow of having to go hours not knowing if he might have lost his only remaining family.

Roughly, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve, only breaking eye contact with Connor for a second. He'd never seen him this angry before, not at him. And Connor could feel his stomach slowly turning to stone as a result. Murphy shrugged at him, holding his hands out to the sides for a moment before letting them drop back.

"...Why'd you do it, Connor?"

Swallowing thickly, the other twin took in a breath or two.

"…The old man, Hershel - he got bitten, and had his leg cut off. He was gonna bleed out without first aid, he needed antibiotics, bandages-"

"So?"

"...What?"

Murphy's normally smoky blue eyes were hard as iron now, set in an expression that aged him. Though with a glance over to the cells, he switched to Gaelic as easily as breathing.

"You heard me."

"You think I was just gonna let him die..?"

"If it meant the difference between you comin' back in one piece or not, then aye, y'should have."

"Who am I talkin' to here? Murphy, I couldn't just not do anything – you know I couldn't, and you wouldn't either." He searched his twin's face for any sign that Murphy agreed. "You know you wouldn't-"

"You're wrong. Before, aye, I would help. I'd do anything I could to save him. But this is a different world, Connor. If there was a risk I'd die and have you carry on alone? I know exactly what I'd do and that wouldn't be it. I mean, did you even think of me _once _while you were out bein' Superman?"

"Don't you dare say that to me, Murphy – of course I did!…I was gone a few hours, that's all-"

"No it's fucking _not 'all'– _Jesus Christ Connor, if I have to explain this to you I don't know who the fuck I'm talking to either! That? What you did? We do that shit together. Both or neither, remember that? It wasn't fuckin' clever and you're not some fuckin' hero!"

His tone dropped considerably as he switched back to English, as though he was still aware of the audience at the bars of the cell block door.

"…You're my brother – you're my brother and we're supposed to have each other's backs. Do you have any fuckin' idea what it'd do to me if…if I lost you…? Because if I'm being really honest right now, I don't have the first goddamned clue"

The profanities and ranting came to close as Connor grabbed the front of Murphy's shirt and slowly pulled him into a hug, arms immediately winding tightly around the other. He could tell his brother was trying not to cry anymore, regardless of whether or not Murphy would go to the grave denying it. Any guilt he'd felt when he was away from the cell block had intensified by ten hundred in that moment – despite their being the same height, Murphy had never felt smaller or more vulnerable to him, like he was comforting his eight year old self after a particularly harsh scolding from their mother.

"…'m sorry, Murphy…I'm so sorry"

"If you ever fuckin' do that to me again, Connor I swear to God-"

"I won't, Murph', I won't…I'm sorry, I didn't mean t'put you through that…I was just tryin' to do the right thing"


	11. Bridging the gap

Murphy slept very little that night, and what little rest he did get was fitful and shallow and laced with nightmares. By the time dawn came around, both brothers were awake, both sitting on the bottom bunk, occasionally speaking in whispers, but it was mostly Murphy reaffirming himself that his brother was still there.

At one point, he felt a small nudge to his ribcage, and with a sleepy turn of the head, he could vaguely see Connor looking at him with a weak smile.

"You okay?"

"Fuckin' tired, but…yeah. I'm good."

"Could try sleeping again"

"I'm fine, stop fussin'…I swear to God you're worse than Ma…"

The mention of their mother quietened them both for a few minutes. They didn't talk about her, not really. Not anymore. There wasn't any point. Rubbing his finger back and forth across his eyes a few times, Murphy leant his head back against the wall with a tired sigh.

"…'m sorry…for hittin' you"

"Nah, you're not."

"…Yeah, you're right"

"I did kind of deserve it, I would'a knocked you right on your arse if it'd been you"

"You would'a tried your hardest to knock me on my arse – probably couldn't though. We both know I'm the better fighter-"

"Oh fuck off are you!"

Now both twins were smiling and sniggering, but equally, both of them were relieved to be together again.

The next night wasn't much better, but this time Connor woke up of his own accord, shaking Murphy awake and quietly reassuring him as he came to. Once again, they ended up on Connor's bunk, but this time Murphy fell asleep again soon after, eventually ending up using his brother as a resting post, his body awkwardly folded against the wall and Connor's shoulder, most of his legs dangling off the end of the bed. It felt like they were kids again, and for a little while, Connor entertained the nostalgia that had him feeling so heavy in the chest.

As children they'd always shared a room, even well into their teenage years – their mother's house was only small, so they'd always been in each other's hair, not that it mattered. But it meant that, from around age eight or nine when Murphy had started getting bad nightmares –or 'night terrors', the doctor had called them - on a regular basis, it was always Connor he went to first. It was always Connor that woke up in the morning absolutely frozen to the bone because his brother was curled next to him, cocooned in his duvet. And it was always Connor that never said a word about it. Murphy was easily embarrassed, and anything beyond brotherly teasing, Connor kept to himself. He'd never thought there was anything to be embarrassed about; by what Murphy told him, the nightmares sounded terrifying. And after having one graphically described to him, he had no issue with getting up in the middle of the night to shake his brother awake. That's what this reminded Connor of – although Murphy had gradually grown out of it, these past nights had highlighted to him exactly how much his absence had effected his sibling.

As the minutes turned to hours, he drifted in and out of consciousness, but gradually the block was illuminated by the rising sun, and by about eight o'clock, the group had begun to wake up. The morning conversation woke Connor first- his eyes stung in the light, and he knew he couldn't have had more than a few hours' sleep for a second night. He'd be out of it as soon as his head hit the pillow tonight, that was certain. Murphy was completely dead to the world, his breathing heavy and slow. Carefully pushing himself off the bed, Connor edged a pillow halfway under Murphy's head and got up, seemingly every joint in his body cracking and popping as he cautiously stretched. Sleeping while sat upright never ended well, and his skin felt physically cold to touch from where he'd been resting against the concrete wall. And for a moment, he thought of coffee; of how wonderful a cup of even cheap, shitty coffee would be. Instead, there was a warm bottle of water and a can beans. With no real label.

"Feast fit for a king…"

However, his breakfast was cut short by Rick appearing outside the cell. He didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep either. With a nodded greeting, he motioned for Connor to follow him, which he did after another final gulp of water. He assumed Rick wanted to speak to him, but when he stopped outside one of the lower cells and gestured inside, Connor had to admit he was surprised. There were two women by the side of Hershel's bed – one was checking his stump, the other having a conversation he couldn't quite hear.

"He wanted to talk to you." Rick had said, fixing Connor with a look that very plainly read 'if you try anything I'll make you regret it. Having shot this same look at Murphy enough in the past, Connor gave him another nod, and waited for one of the women – a heavily pregnant brunette with a thin frame – to leave the cell, before gingerly taking her place by the bedside. He gave the first woman a small smile and strangely, she returned it. Whether it was genuine or not, he wasn't sure.

"…I'm Connor" he told her, keeping his voice low.

"So I've heard" she replied, in the same way mother's talk about friends of their child they disapprove of, a clipped sort of tone that amused the Irishman, in an odd way. Rick was watching from the doorway like a hawk, so Connor thought it best to get straight to the point. Turning towards Hershel, in the morning light he could see he was still very pale and very weak, his skin tight over his bones like tracing paper, and almost as white as the hair on his head.

"How is he?"

"…Better, than yesterday at least. There's no sign of infection, but I'm sure we have those antibiotics you brought here to thank for that." There was a pause, before she added;

"We're all very grateful, for what you did…we appreciate it."

"It's nothin' – don't mention it."

"It that was nothing…" came a gruff, hoarse voice from the bed, "…then I can't wait to see you do 'something'"

In all honesty, Connor didn't know what to say. He was generally a very confident man, but this atmosphere, having people so untrusting of his presence alone - he had to admit, it'd knocked him down a few pegs. Eventually, he managed to get something out as Hershel seemed to wake up a little more.

"…I was just doin' the right thing."

"And you were prepared to do that…at the risk of getting yourself killed?"

"That's not quite what was goin' through-"

"Son…I'm not expecting you to come down here…and entertain an old man. You've done all you need to, said all you have to…"

"I don't understand, I thought- Rick said you wanted to talk to me?"

Slowly, Hershel reached over his shoulder, feeling underneath his pillow for a moment, before bringing out Connor's rosary.

"I wanted to give you this back."

He held it out for Connor to take, which he did, rolling the beads across his palm before putting it back around his neck.

"…Thanks."

"I know Carol already told you – but you should know, I'm very grateful to you. And I know my daughters are too…As far as I'm concerned…anyone willing to do something that damned stupid for a stranger…is someone who's been in this place long enough. Now, I don't know what you boys did to get put in here…but I know people…I have a good judge on them, a good read if you like. And I think you're a good man. You have a good heart."

For some reason, his words struck a chord. Being treated like prisoners by guards is one thing. Being treated like one after the guards are dead, by civilians – it's disheartening. Understandable, but disheartening all the same. So hearing someone say that to him, it made Connor smile, softly but sincerely.

"I appreciate that, sir. Thank you."

"It's not a problem."


End file.
